


Achromatic

by ArcherEmpyrean



Series: Chroma [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blackmail, F/M, M/M, Stalking, Student/Teacher, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcherEmpyrean/pseuds/ArcherEmpyrean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are really beginning to come together for Steve Rogers. He's landed his dream job as a history teacher, he's preparing to propose to his high school sweetheart, and things honestly couldn't be better. </p><p>He doesn't know he's just one obsessed student away from losing everything - a student by the name of Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spaghetti Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Master here. I have a few things to go over before we begin. First of all, to those readers of Half-Mask, it is NOT abandoned, we've just had a chaotic few weeks. 
> 
> Second, this is the first of a two-part series called Chroma, encompassing Achromatic and Polychromatic. Really, they're companion fics and you can read them in any order, or side-by-side. Some of the later chapters will overlap, so that should be fun. You could PROBABLY read one and not the other, but it may make some of the plot points a little confusing. The first chapter of Polychromatic should be up sometime in the next week, and tell the story from Loki's side. 
> 
> Third thing is, I am currently looking for a coauthor for this, preferably someone with some experience writing dark stories (because this will get rather dark at times) or at least the proper mindset to write one. You don't need an AO3 account, just some form of instant messaging for me to contact you through that isn't Skype.

"Good morning, everybody, and welcome to American History 101." Steve Rogers smiled at his first real class of the day. It wasn't an early class - just before lunch, actually - and he'd been waiting anxiously through his prep period and a study hall to finally address his new students as a real, official, honest-to-God teacher. The air was practically vibrating with his excitement. "My name is Mr. Rogers. And no, I don't wear sweater vests." He chuckled at his own joke. 

If Steve was the definition of excitement, then his students were the exact opposite. They continued to chatter and text and generally ignore him. Steve's smile wilted imperceptibly. 

"Cardigans."

He looked over at the girl who had spoken. She had dark red hair and a bored expression. "Excuse me?"

"Cardigans. Mr. Rogers wears cardigans. Not sweater vests." She sounded mildly annoyed at having to explain. "And this isn't American History 101, it's just American History. 101 indicates a college course."

Shown up by a student in the first three minutes of his first class. This was going just swimmingly. "Well, Miss..."

"Romanov."

"Yes, Miss Romanov, the suffix '101' does generally mean it's a college course, but it also just means a course that provides basic knowledge of a subject." Steve kept his smile on and was pretty proud of himself for it.

She continued to sound only bored. "101 is not a suffix, as it isn't part of a word. And it refers to basic knowledge in a college course, Mr. Rogers, not a high school classroom. You _did_ go to college, didn't you?"

It's not fair to pick a least-favorite student in the first five minutes, but Steve was rapidly reaching that decision. At least the rest of the class was paying attention now. "Yes I did, Miss Romanov, but my major was history, not English." _Ha!_ One point for teacher.

"I like how you think you've won by insulting your own intelligence, Mr. Rogers."

Maybe not quite one point for teacher. 

"Not everything is a competition, Miss Romanov." To his credit, he didn't let his smile waver. To hers, she merely gave him a knowing stare and said nothing more. Beside her, a boy with blonde hair and muscular arms held up his hand, and she high-fived him without even bothering to look over. 

Steve ignored it. He was a teacher, he didn't need a cheering section, right? He swallowed the lump of nerves that had gathered in his throat and picked up a sheet of paper from the front table. "Let's start with attendance." He looked down at his list. "Clinton Barton?"

It was the kid with blonde hair next to Romanov, who saluted him. "Yo."

Steve considered, for a split second, enforcing a proper roll call response. But it really just wasn't worth it. He shook his head with an internal sigh and kept calling names. 

Attendance went without further incident until he was about three-quarters of the way down the list, just after he'd called Natasha Romanov's name.

"Anthony Stark."

He waited, but no immediate reply came. "Anthony? Is Anthony Stark present?"

There was a slight movement across the classroom, a minor shift in focus as heads adjusted their angle and eyes flickered toward the back of the room. Steve followed the current of attention as it was pulled away from him and walked slowly down an aisle of desks. He stopped at the classroom's focal point - the desk of a young male with dark tousled hair whose concentration was dedicated to a notebook filled with messy equations and calculations in hasty scrawl. Steve touched the boy's shoulder gently, but his focus didn't break. "Anthony?"

"Tony." The teenager didn't look up, absorbed in his notes as if he couldn't stop or he'd lose whatever he was working on. It couldn't be homework, it was only the first day. "It's Tony."

"Okay, well Tony, could you please put away whatever you're working on until after class?"

Tony paused, as if considering the request, and then slowly closed the book. Steve got the distinct feeling that Tony was only closing it because he chose to, not because Steve asked him to. He shook it off and finished the roll call before going over the syllabus. 

Thirty minutes before the end of the period, Steve pulled out a stack of papers and began to hand them out. "Alright, now we're going to have a quick pop quiz-" The class groaned collectively, muttering to each other, and Steve smiled widely, hiding his nerves. "Don't worry, it won't be graded. This is just to get a feel for what you know already. You'll have twenty minutes and then we'll go over the answers in class." 

He handed the last of the sheets out and went to sit at the desk in the back of the room. It wasn't his desk, not yet - as a new teacher, he just had to carry his supplies with him and resign himself to being bounced between classrooms until he'd worked at the school long enough to be granted his own room. He sorted his papers, again, and resisted the urge to toy with anything on the senior teacher's desk - a quiet man by the name of Phil Coulson who taught the Global History and Economics courses.

Nineteen minutes later, unable to wait any longer, Steve stood up and called, "Pens down!" There was a rustle of movement as students scribbled down last-minute answers. Steve walked slowly around the room with the answer key in his hand. "Let's go over the answers now... Miss Foster, can you tell me the answer to question one?"

The answers they gave varied from almost-correct to completely-off-the-mark, which was perhaps to be expected. Steve was encouraging, trying not to make anyone feel embarrassed for giving an incorrect answer. "After all," he chuckled at one particularly bad answer. "If you knew all the answers, what would you need me for?"

At question six, he circled around to Tony Stark's desk and his eyes happened to fall on the teenager's quiz paper. It was completely blank, and Tony was feverishly working in his notebook again. Steve narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. "Mr. Stark, can you tell us the answer to question seven?"

"I told you, it's Tony. Mr. Stark is my father." Tony didn't even bother looking up, let alone at his quiz paper. The class rippled with laughter and eyes turned to Steve to see what he would do. 

He'd already been humiliated by Natasha Romanov at the beginning of class; he couldn't afford to let another student show him up. He needed to prove who was in control here. "Question seven, _Tony_."

Tony glanced at his quiz as if seeing it for the first time. "I didn't answer that one." He went back to his notebook.

Steve wasn't sure if he should feel victorious or furious. He was leaning toward the latter. "I know you didn't. It looks like you didn't answer _any_ of them." He looked around at the rest of the class. "Would anybody like to answer question seven and help Tony out?" He gazed around the room slowly, but nobody would meet his eyes. "Nobody?"

"The House of Burgesses."

Steve looked down in surprise at Tony, who appeared to still be absorbed in his calculations. "Excuse me?"

"Question seven. The first assembly of elected officials in the colonies. The answer is the House of Burgesses." 

Steve narrowed his eyes, not amused, even if it was the first answer he'd gotten from the class that was spot-on. "Correct. See me after class, Tony."

Tony chuckled, eyes still glued to the page he was writing on. "Will do, Mr. Rogers."

 

* * *

 

"So, let's talk about my poor attitude."

Steve sighed as Tony regarded him with a wide smile from his desk. He'd probably heard teachers lecture him for years and knew nothing Steve could say would make any difference. That didn't mean Steve wouldn't try. "Tony, what are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not trying to 'prove' anything, Mr. Rogers. I just didn't see the point of doing the assignment."

"Your grade will suffer for it." 

"You said it wasn't graded." Tony's voice wasn't accusatory. Instead, it almost bordered on challenging, as if he were testing Steve's reactions. 

"The quiz isn't, no. But your participation is." Steve kept his voice calm, wondering what Tony was playing at, if anything. Maybe he was just rebellious. "Tony, why do this to yourself? On your first day? I know you're smart."

Tony smiled wider, amused. "How do you know that? You just met me."

"You knew the answer to the question, didn't you?" Steve couldn't help smiling a little too.

Tony laughed. "Nah, You were distracted with trying to embarrass me, so I looked it up on my phone."

And for some reason, the tension and nerves and stress broke in that moment and Steve found himself laughing. He knew he shouldn't - Tony broke the rules, and it's really not even that funny and he shouldn't laugh at that in front of a student because it shows a loss of control. But somehow he couldn't stop chuckling, especially when Tony went on to say, "I mean really, who even knows what the House of Budgies or whatever even is, anyway?"

"Burgesses," Steve got out, laughing even though it's completely inappropriate, and Tony was grinning because he knew he was getting off scot-free, and that wasn't right either. But there it was. "The House of Burgesses."

"If you say so, Mr. Rogers. Hey, what's your real name, by the way? I mean, your first name."

"Steve." Steve replied before he could think to stop himself. "Well, ah, Steven, actually."

"Steve, huh?" Tony grinned. "Cool. Am I free to go now, Steve?"

"That's Mr. Rogers to you," Steve said, his attempt at being stern a little diluted by his continued smile. "And sure, go on, get out of here."

Tony stood up, still grinning, grabbed his bag and headed for the door. Steve shook his head as the kid left, smiling. Maybe he'd be an okay teacher after all.

 

* * *

 

_"You home, baby?"_

"Yeah, I just got in." Steve held the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he removed his shoes, smiling. "You coming over?"

_"I'm outside, dork, buzz me in!"_

Steve laughed and pressed the buzzer by the door. In a few minutes he heard the rattle of the ancient elevator as it arrived at his floor and he opened the door, beaming at the blonde woman who was loaded with grocery bags. "Let me take some of those, Sharon-"

Sharon was in the room before he had a chance to help, dropping the bags on the floor. "To hell with the bags, give me a kiss." She cupped her hands around his cheeks and pulls him down so their lips could meet, familiar and comforting. "My big smart professor."

"Teacher," he corrected with a smile, wrapping his arms around her waist as she rested her hands on his broad shoulders. 

"Teacher. That sounds sexy, can I call you 'Teacher' later?" She grinned mischievously, pecking his lips again. Steve blushed and stammered and she laughed. "Come on, like you've never had a filthy student-teacher fantasy?"

"I would never actually-"

"I know you wouldn't." Sharon smiled, squeezing his shoulders. "You're not like that. But it's okay to have fantasies, baby." 

Steve smiled back, resting his forehead against hers. "As long as they're with you."

"Don't be silly, they'll always be with me," she laughed and they shared another, longer kiss before she pushed him away. "Alright, get off of me, I'm going to go make dinner for my hungry working man." She swooped up the bags before he had a chance to help and shooed him into the living area. 

Steve laughed, allowing himself to be herded to the couch. "Teaching isn't exactly hard physical labor or anything, Sharon. Aren't you tired from being on your feet in the lab all day?" He started to stand up to follow her to the kitchenette. "I can help with-"

"No." She pointed a wooden spoon at him. "You keep your ass firmly planted in that chair, Steven. We are celebrating your first day as a real teacher and that means you are not lifting a finger if it kills me." 

"You'll make one hell of a mother some day, Sharrie. I almost pity our future children."

"Well, you're a big softie. Someone has to wear the pants around here." She turned back to the stove, dumping a jar of pasta sauce into a pan.

Steve smiled and stood up anyway, walking across the living area to the open kitchenette and sliding his arms around Sharon's waist. "Canned pasta sauce and instant spaghetti, hm?" 

"Don't make me smack you with the spoon. I said I'd make dinner, not that I'd become a chef." She leaned into his arms and turned her head to kiss his cheek. "Besides, I thought it'd be nostalgic."

"Oh, yes. Are you going to burn it, too? For added nostalgia?" Steve replied teasingly.

"Excuse me, I believe the only reason I burned it was because I was distracted by the big blond idiot I was trying to impress." She smacked his arm lightly, trying not to smile. 

Steve squeezed her against his chest. "Rest assured he was impressed. And continued to be impressed for the next six years, and will still be impressed many years from now."

"You're a dork."

"I love you."

"I love you, too." She kissed him again and then turned her attention back to the stove. "If you insist on being in the kitchen, arrange the flowers and put them on the table. You're better at it than I am, you've got an eye for it. And put some music on while you're at it." 

She indicated a bouquet of fresh flowers she must have picked up just for this occasion, and Steve gave a playful salute. "My pleasure, ma'am." 

He walked to the battered CD player in the corner and soon the gravelly voice of Louis Armstrong filtered out of the speakers. Sharon made a noise halfway between scoffing and laughing. 

"Of course, I should have known what you'd pick." 

"Hey, my first day, my celebration, right? Louis is classic. Not to mention romantic." He skipped ahead a few songs to his favorite, to prove his point. The melodic piano intro floated into the room and Steve sang along with the opening lyrics as he returned to Sharon's side to get the flowers.

_Give me a kiss to build a dream on_

_And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss_

_Sweetheart, I ask no more than this_

_A kiss to build a dream on._

 

He elbowed Sharon lightly when he caught her singing along too. "See, you like it."

"No, I get it stuck in my head all the time because of you and your old-people music." She was smiling as she said it, because she really did like the song, Steve knew. He continued to sing along teasingly as he picked up the bouquet and pulled the wrapping off. 

_When I'm alone with my fancies_

_I'll be with you_

_Weaving romances_

_Making believe they're true_

He arranged the flowers in a vase that was disproportionately tall to the coffee table he set it on. They'd have dinner at that coffee table later, on the couch in the living area. Sharon would tease him about getting a real table and chairs so she could make her romantic dinners more 'romantic' and Steve would tease her about not making dinner often enough to justify a table and chairs. He wouldn't have traded them, anyway - that stumpy little table and worn-out couch had followed them through college, seen heated fights and heated touches, and maybe Steve was just as nostalgic as Sharon claimed. 

That night, in the almost-darkness punctuated by the lights of passing cars, the love of his life sleeping curled against his bare chest, Steven Rogers reflected that if things could get any more perfect, he didn't know how. He sent a silent, sleepy murmur of gratitude heavenward, and as he slid into unconsciousness, he prayed that they would always be this happy.

Unfortunately, the universe isn't quite that generous. 

 


	2. Cowardice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything that ever happens to you will be a test of your spirit. That's just how life is. Sometimes, you're going to be pushed to the limits set by yourself or society, and then you have to decide if you'll be a brave man or a coward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been almost a year, yes I know. I'm sorry. I truly do love this story and I do intend to finish it, so I am making an active effort to update more regularly. If you haven't yet, do take a look at Achromatic's sister story, Polychromatic, which is linked at the bottom of the page. You can read them in any order or at the same time - they both eventually follow the same timeline. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The second day of school was a Thursday, because for some ridiculous reason, school years will always begin in the middle of the week. Steve spent about half his planning period drawing up the seating charts for each class and wishing he'd paid more attention to where the kids sat the day before. He was making an effort to break up any potential 'problem students' before they could cause trouble. Clint and Natasha, for example, were placed at opposite ends of the room. He felt like a little bit of a jerk doing it - he remembered what it was like to be separated from his friends in school. But they were here to _learn_ , and he just _knew_ those two were going to cause issues. 

He penciled Tony's name in the spot to the front and left of the teacher's desk in the back, at a diagonal. The boy was obviously intelligent, but he'd need someone watching him to keep him on task. 

Steve considered the name for a moment, and then erased it. He was being too much of a mother hen - this was high school, these kids shouldn't need someone peering over their shoulder all the time. 

But _somebody_ had to go in that seat, right? After another moment's thought, he wrote Tony's name in again and left it there. 

When he finally finished and looked at the clock, he still had half an hour left of his planning period and nothing to do. Since it was the beginning of the school year and he was maybe just a little eager, he had every lesson and assignment already planned for the next two weeks. 

After a moment, he packed up his things and crept down to the teacher's lounge on the first floor. Even though he had every right to be there, he still felt a little odd going there, like he was still a student and it was still barred to him. He'd never needed to use it much as a sub, either. If someone was in there and told him to leave, he wouldn't have put up a fight about it, certainly. 

There was someone in there, as it turned out, but he smiled gently and Steve relaxed noticeably. The man had dark curls, glasses, and an easygoing expression as he held out his hand to shake. "New teacher? You looked like a gazelle walking into the lion's den for a moment there."

Steve laughed awkwardly, shaking the proffered hand. "Yeah. Still can't quite shake the feeling of walking into the teacher's lounge and not getting kicked out. I'm Steve Rogers, by the way. The, uh, history department."

"Doctor Bruce Banner, science department." Dr. Banner chuckled, and Steve wondered if he was teasing him. The feeling of unease began to creep up the back of his neck again. 

"Oh? My girlfriend is a scientist." Steve offered, perhaps in an attempt to show he was intelligent, at least by proxy. A second later he was kicking himself for using an unsophisticated word like 'girlfriend' in front of a man with a PhD. 

"Really? What's her area of study?"

So much for appearing intelligent. "Um, it kind of goes over my head most of the time. Something with biochemistry or molecular genetics or something?" Steve laughed awkwardly again, wondering if he was trying much too hard. 

Dr. Banner smiled kindly, and Steve tried not to imagine that there was any condescension lurking in the crinkled corners of his eyes. "Perhaps I will have the chance to discuss it with her myself at some point. Molecular-level physics was my area of study when I was doing lab work. Had I continued on to be a research scientist, I would have been a nuclear physicist." 

"But you decided to be a teacher instead?" And not even a university professor, but a high school teacher at that. Steve loved his job, of course, but it didn't exactly pay well and a PhD. wasn't exactly cheap. 

"Unfortunately, even under government contract, most research scientists don't make much more than a starting teacher. And it certainly takes much longer to reach tenure." Dr. Banner's smile had turned weary. 

"That's terrible. I mean, not that you became a teacher, or that being a teacher is bad or anything, obviously, but to spend all that time and money and not be able to do the thing you love?" Steve had never really thought about scientific research having a lack of funding. It certainly seemed like they were discovering new things all the time. 

"Who says I don't love teaching?" The doctor was smiling again for real, eyes glinting with amusement behind squarish wire-rimmed glasses. "I get to guide young minds in the quest for truth and self-discovery, as I was guided myself. Sometimes I even encounter true genius, like Stark."

The name chimed a bell in Steve's head. "Stark?" He blanked for a minute, which was frustrating because he'd been looking at the name less than an hour ago.

"Tony Stark, yes. Absolutely brilliant." Dr. Banner was glowing with pride as if describing his own son. "He's in his final year of science courses already, in AP Physics with myself and AP Chemistry with Dr. Pym." 

"Already? He's only a sophomore, though." Steve was stunned. He knew Tony was smart, but that was beyond your average smart kid. He would have had to have taken both his Earth Science and Biology classes in freshman year - and AP at that!

"A sophomore and a prodigy. I understand he's also in the advanced calculus courses." The doctor took a sip of what must have been stone-cold coffee. "You know him, I assume?"

"He's in my next class, actually, yeah. I got the impression that he was rather, uh, cheeky." Steve laughed, shifting in his seat. 

Dr. Banner smiled over his coffee. "His attitude is a force to be reckoned with, I agree, but his passion and spunk will catch the eye of college admissions councils. This time next year, he'll be attending classes at MIT or Cal-Tech, I imagine, and even then he'll likely be leaving his classmates in the dust."

"You sound like you have a personal investment in this student."

"Well, you could say that his father has made personal investments in his son's education."

"His father?" Steve furrowed his brow in slight confusion.

Dr. Banner set his coffee mug down, eyes flicking up to the clock above the door. "Let's just say that the science and math departments are very grateful to one Howard Stark. Also, you had better pack up. Next period starts in four minutes."

 

* * *

 

The class was indeed unhappy about assigned seating, and Steve was sure his popularity points were dropping rapidly among his students. 

Except Tony, who appeared surprised but largely unruffled when asked to move to his new seat. He eyeballed the close proximity of the teacher's desk and looked to Steve, then back again and then at Steve once more, who was still assigning seats. His eyes looked focused on something right in front of him that was invisible to everyone else, as if there was a series of equations scrolling across his vision that he alone could see. 

There was a thin line between weirdness and genius, Steve decided, shooting an amused smile at the vacant teenager, who suddenly seemed to revive at the action. Tony smiled back as if he hadn't just been lost in his own head.

The smile was slightly off, somehow. For an instant, the thought, _'it's on the wrong face,'_ flashed through Steve's mind. The sheer ridiculousness of that thought made him physically shake it away and move on to begin the lesson. But somewhere under his skin, for no justifiable reason, creeped the feeling of unease.

 

* * *

 

On Friday, Tony lagged behind the others, who rushed out of the classroom for lunch as soon as the bell rang. He took his time gathering his things and walked slowly toward the door. He paused before he reached it and turned to face his teacher again. "Steve- Mr. Rogers, I mean?"

"Yeah, Tony?"

"Do you consider yourself a brave person? Or a coward?"

Steve frowned, a bit confused by the sudden unrelated questioning. "Well, I'd like to say that I'm not a coward, but I think most people believe that about themselves. You can't really know the extent of your courage until something is able to break it."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "So it's like a scientific study. Pushing the limits of something until it breaks, so you can learn more about it."

That sounded just a teeny bit too much like Nazi Germany for Steve's liking, and he laughed uncomfortably. "Well, I should hope we aren't performing experiments on the human spirit to test its durability."

Tony looked honestly surprised. "Mr. Rogers, everything that ever happens to you will be a test of your spirit. That's just how life is. Sometimes, you're going to be pushed to the limits set by yourself or society, and then you have to decide if you'll be a brave man or a coward."

The point of this conversation was beginning to be lost on Steve. "Tony, is this going anywhere in particular?"

The boy shrugged one shoulder. "Oh, it's just a hypothetical question, I guess."

"Alright then. You should probably get going so you aren't late, though."

"I'm not worried about being late to lunch, Steve," Tony smiled as he turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "But if you were wondering... I don't think you're very brave at all."

Steve frowned, not so much irritated as he was confused. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know." Tony looked back, a cryptic grin upon his face. "I think you just need a push in the right direction, that's all. Have a good night, Steve."

It wasn't until a few minutes later, after puzzling over the curious conversation, that Steve realized he'd forgotten to correct Tony to not address him by his given name. A moment later, and he reflected on how odd it was that Tony should wish him a good night in the middle of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click on the Chroma series link to check out this story's sister fic, Polychromatic, which will give you an entirely different look at Tony. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - hope you'll be back soon!

**Author's Note:**

> First chapters are always boring. Lots of foreshadowing but not much else. Still looking for that coauthor. I promise I don't bite, usually. (Well, I've bitten my Half-Mask coauthor, but she liked it.)
> 
> I confess, I ended up liking Sharon more than I thought I would - I usually dislike female characters except Natasha and Pepper. If you aren't familiar with Marvel trivia, as I confess I am not, Sharon Carter is Steve's canon lover after he revives from the ice.


End file.
